Survivors of Armageddon

Survivors of Armageddon Chapter 1: "Trash Girl"

Survivors of Armageddon
-T.G.

I'm not quite sure how to put it. I guess I'll start with my name, and I guess my full name will suffice for now. __________ at your service. Oh...okay that sounded way better in my mind. Maybe you should just call me _______. My best friends call me "_______", so I guess you can call me that too if you want. I used to be your average teenager, good grades, a decent group of friends, did what your parents told you and all that crap. Emphasis on the "used to". You see, I was walking to Spanish class one shitty Monday morning. My friend Marcelle passed by me in the hall. I call her Marce. She hates her full name, which I don't understand at all. It's beautiful, really. That day she was in a really crappy mood. Don't get me wrong, I get it. It was a MONDAY. No free periods for me whatsoever, you know. Filling up my schedule to get that college resume lookin' peachy as hell. Come to think of it, my other friend Keaton wasn't looking so well either...I guess they were on their "cycle". God, I really hate having Spanish as the first period of the day. Maybe Keaton and Marce had Spanish too. That makes total sense. My Spanish teacher, Señora Mendez always had to tell this stupid joke, the same stupid joke every morning. By now, I don't even remember it. Whoever pays attention to those jokes are kiss-ups. All I remember is that it was some stupid, racist reference to Taco Bell. No me gusta español. I don't like Spanish. Who knows, who cares.

After surviving Mendez's class and the rest of my core courses, I headed to the cafeteria. A lot of hot shot populars call it "the café". Guess you could call me a hypocrite...I call it the café as well. Oh, and speaking of Mexican food, Monday's lunch was chicken enchiladas. I kind of miss that...the hustle of middle schoolers trying to push through the seniors and their goddamn cliques roaming the lunch tables. That was sarcasm if you're gullible enough to believe it. The food wasn't all that great to be honest, but the mere fact that everyone has a moment of relief from class was a reward enough, especially for me. I entered the café, scrunching my nose at what seemed to be the plate of the day, until my realization that a completely filled trash bin was right in my peripheral view. Instead of doing what a normal person would have done and walked around it I decided to walk straight into it, tripping and spilling putrid trash everywhere. I even spilled it on this one kid, Nate Johnson. Sweet kid...poor thing. He most definitely didn't look as idiotic as I did at that moment though. I'm pretty sure that every single kid in that cafeteria stopped everything they were doing and stared straight at me as if they saw a ghost. I sure wished I was one. Then in the piercing silence of it all, this one middle schooler cracked a smirk and started laughing his ass off. No one else was laughing for a good thirty seconds, until that one kid decided out of the oh-so hilarious brink of the moment to yell out, "nice one trash girl!". I know, literally the dumbest nickname you could think of, but hey, he was a 7th grader. Once the entire student body was booming with hysterical laughter, hopefully because of how dumb the nickname was, I actually started laughing myself. Keaton was standing in the corner with the saddest look on her face. Like, if you could think of the saddest and most terrified face in the world at that moment, it was Keaton's. "Holy shit, ______, are you okay?! What the hell were you thinking!" I blatantly nodded, still laughing at myself a bit longer. I'm not the kind of girl who would make a huge ass deal over some kid calling you "trash girl". It grew on me actually. In fact, come to think of it everyone started calling me T.G., like they had forgotten my real name. The fresh-meat freshmen who didn't even know my real name called me that too. It's quite sad if you think about it actually. Oh well. T.G. Rolls nice on the tongue. Got a certain finesse. The kind of buddy-buddy name you'd call your chump in a group of dumbfounded jocks. Like, "Aye T.G., how's it goin' playa?!" OR "Yo T.G. pass the weed!" OR even "T.G. got totally wasted last night man!" See? It's rubbing off on me already.

I shrugged off that whole cafeteria catastrophe and strolled right along to my last class of the day, Technology. It's probably my most enjoyed class in school, not counting Art 'cause that's really awesome too. We had assigned seating, and I'm pretty sure everyone feels the same way about assigned seating. We all wish it didn't exist except when you're lucky enough to get seated by your best friend, your crush, or that really smart person who you could slyly manipulate for test answers. Mrs. Cansa must've made a new seating chart cause I sat by this kid who I don't normally sit by, Mark Fichbach. His last name was almost as weird as mine, maybe even about the same actually. That made it a little easier to start a conversation. Don't ask why.